Read Online Made That Way by Susan Ketchen - Free Book Online Page B

other side from Mom and grabs my foot.
    â€œHow are you feeling?” says Mom. “How’s your head? They say you have a concussion.”
    â€œHow can I have a concussion? I didn’t hit my head.”
    â€œYou just don’t remember hitting your head,” says Dad.
    â€œI . . . did . . . not . . . hit . . . my . . . head,” I say very slowly and clearly so even they will understand. I remember telling the emergency room doctor the same thing.
    â€œUh huh,” say Mom and Dad, exactly like the doctor said. No one believes me. I close my eyes in frustration and wipe my fingertips across my forehead . . . and feel a lump. Could I have hit my head? I was wearing my helmet, which would have protected me. I try to remember what happened. I remember putting my arms out to break the fall, I remember rolling to the side the way that Kansas told me I should do if I ever come off a horse . . . and then I remember Taylor. I remember the blood all over the place.
    I groan out loud. Big mistake.
    â€œDo you have pain?” says Mom. “We’ll get a nurse.” She grabs the call button from beside my pillow and I grab it back from her quickly before she can press the button.
    â€œNo,” I say, “I do not have pain, other than the stupid pain I get from the growth hormone. I was remembering Taylor, bleeding at the side of the road.”
    My mom takes my hand. “You have to focus on your own recovery, Honey,” she says, but her eyes betray her for a fraction of a second and flick to the curtain separating my bed from the next one.
    â€œTaylor, are you in there?” I call through the curtain.
    Dad scoots up the bed then leans over and kisses me on the forehead. I flinch. How could I have hit my head and not remember? How could I have hurt myself if I was wearing an ASTM/SEI approved riding helmet like Kansas insists I wear all the time? The skin feels so tender. Dad doesn’t notice. “She’s not there right now, Munchkin, she’ll be back later. She’s down in surgery.”
    Mom shakes her head. “Tony,” she whispers as though I’m not even there, “I told you we should have paid extra for a private room. This is going to be much too upsetting for Sylvie.”
    â€œUpsetting?” I say. “What’s happened to her?”
    Dad says, “It’s a small thing. She injured her foot, that’s all.”
    That’s when I remember the toe and feel a surge of panic. “If she has to miss dance classes she’ll never forgive me.”
    A dark look passes between my parents. My mom opens her mouth to speak but Dad reaches over and squeezes her shoulder and she presses her lips back together.
    â€œWhat?” I say.
    â€œWe’ll tell you later,” says Mom.
    â€œI hate it when you do this!” Maybe it’s really really bad what’s happened, maybe her whole foot had to be amputated after being damaged by my bike chain and she’ll never walk again, maybe that’s what they’re protecting me from.
    â€œWe’ll tell you when you’re stronger, Snookie,” says Dad. “Right now you need your strength to get better.”
    â€œGet better? There’s nothing the matter with me! I’d be fine if I wasn’t taking the stupid growth hormone! Ask Dr. Cleveland. Kansas told her all about my getting headaches and throwing up and double vision. I don’t care if I’m short. I’m fine. What’s happened to Taylor?”
    My mom takes my hand. “Settle down, Honey. I know you’re upset, but it’s not appropriate to be demanding like this.”
    Dad says, “She lost her big toe.”
    â€œThank Christ!” I say, and they look so shocked that I add, “Not her whole foot then?”
    Mom shakes her head. “Language, Sylvie. Just the toe.”
    â€œSo she could still dance,” I insist.
    â€œThey don’t think so,” says Dad.